


honey, honey

by resurrectdead



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1980s, 80's AU, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Bottom Louis, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Grinding, M/M, Secret Crush, Smut, Teen Romance, my proof-reader said it's like an indie movie and that's a really nice thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectdead/pseuds/resurrectdead
Summary: It just feels weird to not be able to tell his own mum about how nervous yet over the fucking moon happy he is right now, because this tape isn’t for neither Niall nor Liam. It’s for, well.It’s for Harry bloody Styles. The boy that makes his insides feel like sunshine.Or: It’s 1988, and Louis has to make a mixtape for Harry





	honey, honey

**Author's Note:**

> someone asked me about more bottom louis fics since I have literally just one (1) and I can’t remember who that was, but this is for you, lad. have at it.
> 
> edit: my friend made [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/potatobookworm/playlist/09wnhLet3sqGJcy16IYrNi?si=tx4E7gCYRb2frKotezjWHg) that sets the mood super well and I love it!! check it out!!  
> also, here's [the post](http://artxghoul.tumblr.com/post/176097383244/honey-honey-by-resurrectdead-on-ao3-word-count) abt this fic (with the customary moodboard) if you ever want to reblog it

”I swear to god, Lou, if you don’t go talk to him—”

Louis immediately has his hands covering the entirety of Niall’s face. ”You _shsshhh!_ ”

Liam laughs at them cheerfully from a feet away. He’s flipping through a row of Run-DMC records with fingers that are scholarly skilled in the act (an act which is, flipping through useless hip-hop garbage), and Louis turns his face to him instead with his eyebrows set low and his mouth a comically straight line. 

But this is clearly not comical. 

”You better watch it too, Payno,” he hisses, points a meaning finger at him so that Liam holds his hands up by his sides in defeat, because at this point Louis could as well honestly be keeping him at gunpoint; he’s that serious about his best friends’ love for gossiping about the person he sort-of-kind-of-definitely-maybe has a thing for. 

Niall manages to pry Louis’ last hand away from his face just then. ”Get your knickers out of that twist,” he patronizes as he shrugs his denim jacket back up his shoulders, making Louis glare right back at him because oh my _god_ , did he not just tell him to _shut up?_ ”We’re just having a laugh, aren’t we, Li?”

Liam leans over to punch playfully at his arm. He winks at Niall. ”I think old Lou might just want to be getting out of those knickers of his right about now anyways.”

They laugh, give a fistbump. But Louis just glares at the two of them. Because normally he’d join in on the laughter and the bants, but this time it’s just not funny. 

The record shop is playing George Michael’s _Faith_ , and Harry bloody Styles is at the other side of the room bopping his wonderful hips to the beat, and none of this is funny. 

”I just wish you’d keep your _voices down_ ,” he wheezes, glancing nervously at Harry as he shows a prime example of Queen’s _The Works_ for Zayn’s inspection. He’s got that tropical-patterned shirt on today, with the shoulder pads that makes him look hella handsome; as if he needs them. His toned arms are all but straining against the tight, rolled-up sleeves wrapping around those biceps of his, which is totally not at all making Louis’ head spin, it’s totally not at all something he finds himself daydreaming of until he’s got fingers snapping in front of his face to bring him back to reality every now and again. “ _Someone_ could hear you two, lads.”

He honestly can’t believe they haven’t actually heard them yet. Niall’s booming voice is currently making Louis’ ears ring for one reason or another. 

Niall scoffs, humoured. “I’ll have a word with that boy Harold meself, one of these days,” he briskly continues, turning to a stack of folk rock so that Louis can’t throw himself over him again. He deflates against Liam like a bouncy castle instead, clinging to his windbreaker as he watches in horror as Niall loudly babbles on, cursing that sonofabitch leprechaun over and over in his head. “Don’t see how he can be missing you pining over here, anyway. Maybe should wear those eye-glasses you love more often.”

”Are you done?” Louis wheezes, looks up at Liam with huge eyes. ”Is he done?” 

Liam pats Louis’ hand where he’s digging his fingers into the scratchy, hot pink and blue material of his jacket. “Are you _breathing_ , man?”

Louis grinds his jaw. He turns his head over his shoulder, but Harry and Zayn are still mesmerized by the rock section splayed in front of them, currently discussing whether to get a Fleetwood Mac album while Zayn holds something by The Rolling Stones under his arm, suggesting he borrows that by him if he can borrow Fleetwood. 

“Yeah,” Louis decides, but Harry’s still in the same room and is definitely still too close, so he’s kind of still having his lungs feeling about as good as two raisins and meanwhile his brain is working right about as well as a powdered donut, so. “Fine.”

He’s kind of had a crush on Harry for the past few months. And still only Niall and Liam know; still, only Niall and Liam _can_ know, because it’s like, only the most embarrassing thing ever, and all that great stuff.

He’s not too scared about the judgement, mind. Louis’ great with the secrets anyway; to this day, he’s told only one person Liam still sleeps with a teddy bear, and it was the teddy bear of his own he told when he got home from that one sleepover when they were only 12. At 17, he doesn’t really have one of those to confide his deep thoughts in anymore. 

So he tells Niall and Liam. And Niall and Liam clearly have no concept of how people’s hearing works, and clearly don’t understand that a crush is avoided at all costs to decrease the risk of _character death_. 

Because apparently they just love making each others’ lives proper living hells like that. 

He loves them to bits. 

”How’s one of these then, boys?” Niall asks, presenting a _Beatles_ cassette from the stack in front of him. 

”They’re alright,” Liam blatantly lies, eyeing Public Enemy dreamily (aka more hip-hop garbage, insert sigh and appropriate eye-roll). 

Louis thumbs at the sleeves of his own pastel windbreaker as he considers it. ”I think me sister has it,” he decides, breathing slightly less ragged than a second ago, _slightly_. ”It’s the one with that Michelle song, yeah?”

He turns around, suddenly presented with a smorgasbord of other cassettes. Liam’s already humming along to _Michelle, ma belle, these are words that go together well_ before Louis’ even started tracing his finger along the labels lined up in the shelves. 

”I meant for me, knobhead, but thanks,” Niall chastises with a laugh, flipping it over. He hums in a surprised way. ”Although for your information, you were right.”

”Typically am,” Louis announces casually with a half-assed finger-gun motion at Niall behind himself. 

Louis skims the pop section with narrow eyes, picks out a Diana Ross album but decidedly puts it back. Not quite that gay. Ehm, well, he definitely _is_ , just maybe don’t want to drop the news on the family by blasting _I’m Coming Out_ some early sunday morning. 

He side-steps in his squeaky Nikes until he finds the more pop rocky tunes, looks over Duran Duran, Toto, a stack of Bowie. He suddenly finds a familiar name, the same man currently chanting his last chorus of how he’s got to have faith from the shop speakers, and Louis thinks with sparked allurement of perfect hips and long chocolate corkscrews of hair draping over lovely shoulders as he picks the case out from the shelf. 

George Michael with his leather jacket and that trademark cross earring he’s seen in the magazines, looking dramatic as all hell on the small cover art of the tape. 

Winner. 

”Here’s something, boys,” he calls, turns around with _Faith_ held in his hands like his victory prize. 

Niall and Liam both lean in to inspect. ”Sick,” Niall declares. 

”I see why you got that,” Liam grins, making no other explanation but Louis just _knows_ and he flicks Liam on the nose. Liam flicks him on the screen on his snapback. 

But then suddenly Liam’s making eyes to the side, like _huge_ eyes, like _saucers_. And it’s all super obvious who he’s trying to gesture towards and Louis’ about to jump on him and ask him why in the fuck he can’t just act normal when Louis’ trying so very hard to, but then. 

”You’re getting that?” a dark voice says from behind his shoulder, and it takes all in Louis to not drop the cassette right out of his hands. 

(And maybe run outside. And then maybe run all the way home and hide himself in bed.)

He turns around, suddenly presented with. Eyes. Green eyes, big and twinkly, smiling. Perfectly plump lips to go. His hair is a mess of curls and waves three steps from being properly styled with a middle parting that makes his face all heart-shaped and sweet. 

A cross earring is dangling from his ear and reflecting light like a jewel. 

Ah. _I see why you got that._

Louis flicks his eyes to Zayn, forever way too cool for him to even breathe in his presence but right now he’s just leaning against a shelf behind Harry in a too-large leather jacket, watching over the two of them with a suspiciously arched, perfectly-groomed eyebrow. 

”Yeah,” Louis manages to push out, still staring at Zayn like he’s levelling with a bulldog, clears his throat and flicks his eyes back to Harry. ”Yeah, I think so. No, I mean, I am. Yeah. I am.”

When Harry smiles, it’s kind of like the sun comes out on a cloudy day. ”Listen,” he starts, radiating that warmth Louis can go daydreaming about for hours on end, ”I’m sorry like, this must be coming out of nowhere. Uhm, I know we don’t talk much...” 

Which is, not a lie. They’ve like greeted each other twice in the past year as school mates, starting on that first day when Louis nearly knocked a stack of books Harry was inhumanly carrying in his two large hands (elegantly large, narrow and nimble, just sort of _nice_ ) as they walked past each other way back on the first day and he blurted out an apology met with a warming smile and a nod. 

Because, listen. It takes a lot to make a Tomlinson nervous. 

Harry just happens to be _a lot_. 

”But I think,” Harry continues swiftly, through the turmoil in Louis’ mind, ”well it would just be super kind if you could record that for me.”

And Louis’ just stunned. He stares at Harry, although that’s kind of for another billion reasons other than how shocked he is. ”Oh yeah?” 

”Yeah.” Harry grins, less nervous and trying now, confident like Louis’ come to know he usually is. Like he’s accepting a challenge. ”It’s probably my favourite.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. ”You- yeah? You like old George?” He shakes the tape in its case. ”Old… Georgie boy, with the. The cross. Earring.”

He can see Zayn biting his knuckle to try not to either laugh at his distress, or maybe wince in second-hand embarrassment. He’s only so lucky Liam and Niall are behind him and he can’t see just how badly they’re reacting. Maybe they’re communicating with Zayn. In the language of utter pain and misery. 

Harry narrows his eyes playfully, but he makes no comment. ”You could say that,” he drawls, tucks hair behind his ear to flaunt the dangly jewelry. It makes Louis’ knees weak with how he’s suddenly allowed to stare at his neck and just _fantasize maybe a little too much about how it would dangle if he was maybe rocking his body and oh dear oh god_. ”You know, I’ll give you a clear tape too, just-”

”I got it.” Louis puts his hand up to stop him. ”I mean, I don’t got it- I’ll be getting it done. It _will_ be done. Tomorrow? Shit, I’ve got footie— uh, it’ll be done tomorrow _night_. Is that fine? Is it- _yeah?_ ”

Harry presses his lips together like a repressed smile. Louis’ kind of really hardcore embarrassing himself here (like why isn’t anyone euthanizing him or something to put him out of this misery?), but Harry just looks kind of, well. 

Harry laughs. He fucking- he just _bursts_ and Louis’s quick to join, fucking _relieved_ and then both of them are just giggling away to how ridiculous Louis is acting caught off guard like this. If Harry has looked twice at him even once before when he’s not being presented with the most attractive boy he’s ever seen, he’ll probably know him for his usual confidence, too; or at least Louis can only _hope_ he doesn’t think he’s the lamest loser to ever exist. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Zayn roll his eyes before he turns to wander towards the exit, but it doesn’t even matter, because he just got Harry bloody Styles laughing and he looks bloody gorgeous while he does it, so clearly he’s the winner here. 

”Tomorrow night is fine,” Harry assures, still smiling that dopey smile Louis loves so much. He should have flowers in his hair. ”Don’t feel pressured to like, give me an album for free, you know?”

”Duty calls,” Louis shrugs. He puts a hand down the pocket of his baggy jeans all badass and cool, suddenly not actually feeling his heart rupture more and more with each heartbeat just because Harry’s _looking_ at him. ”A man of my word.”

”Well.” Harry smiles, honey-sweet. ”I’m looking forward to it, so. Thank you.”

He touches Louis’ shoulder, just for a second. A millisecond. But it burns his skin and then he’s off, white bag with his Fleetwood Mac record dangling from his wrist as Zayn lets him out after him. 

Louis stands there staring. It’s only Liam that manages to bring him out of the trance. 

”Oh my god,” is all he says, and Louis falls back against him so that Liam has to catch him. 

”That was-” Niall starts, but nobody quite knows how to finish. 

”Louis can’t come to the phone right now,” Louis recites weakly, ”would you like to leave a message?”

”Yeah,” says Niall, matter-of-factly. He sneaks up to him to wheeze in his ear: ”Fucking smashed it, bro.”

He pokes him in the side and Louis recoils, giggling. He did. He really did smash it. 

Oh my god, he’s making an album copy for Harry bloody Styles.

 

 

He throws his backpack off at the door, toes his sneakers off and instantly makes it to the living room. He kneels at one of the drawers in the chest their TV is resting on, digging around for a tape. 

”Everything alright, love?”

Louis freezes. It’s not weird, is the thing. He makes copies for Liam and Niall all the time, and brings home equally as many from them. 

It just feels weird to not be able to tell his own mum about how nervous yet over the fucking moon happy he is right now, because this tape isn’t for neither Niall nor Liam. It’s for, well. 

It’s for Harry bloody Styles. The _boy_ that makes his insides feel like _sunshine_. 

”Alright,” he answers over his shoulder, though it doesn’t sound very convincing. Not at all, actually. Can you believe he takes drama in school?

His mum comes into the room and he hears her stand in the doorway. Oh yeah, being watched totally makes him feel less antsy. He tips out a bag of what he thinks is empty tapes on the floor, only to find out it is in fact a bag of old makeup his sister apparently thought was a great idea to hide in there rather than go right outside and put in the fucking bin. 

”Shit!” he quips, voice so tense it’s almost like a string tuned too tight. 

He’ll _pop_ if he tries to keep that up. 

”Language,” his mum immediately scolds, and Louis huffs a frustrated breath and starts picking up tins and bottles scattered around. ”What’s wrong, my darling?”

He reaches for a lipstick rolled under the chest of drawers, moodily throws it into the bag like a toddler during a tantrum. ”It’s nothing,” he mutters, ”just someone-”

“Was someone mean to you?” She taps her foot down angrily. ”I swear, if they made fun of that jumper Grandma sent you again, I will go down to that school and I’ll beat those little pricks up myself—”

“Mum, no. God.” He drops the bag back in the drawer, opens the one underneath to scan the contents. ”It’s nothing like that.”

This one is just filled with cables, an old toy car of his. Has Lottie genuinely nicked the tapes? Oh fucking hell, now Louis will have to convince her to let him tape over all her Depeche Mode. 

”What is it then? Is it special?” Louis doesn’t answer, just stiffly digs to the bottom of the drawer. “Someone you fancy?”

He stills, and that’s what gives it all away. 

He doesn’t pop. It’s just more like he comes undone, string slowly wiring up, and suddenly he wants to just sink to the floor and wallow for a few hours in his miserable self pity. 

”Oh, my baby.”

Louis huffs another breath. He turns around to his mum settling into the sofa, and when she pats the spot beside her he involuntarily gets up, drags his feet behind himself as he walks up with his head low and plops down next to her like a useless sack of beans. 

She immediately puts her arm around his shoulder, rubbing him up and down as he leans into her. ”Don’t you worry, my darling,” she coos, so sweetly Louis suddenly remembers falling asleep to those kind of words when he was a kid. ”These feelings are a wonderful thing, you know. I just haven’t seen you be all uptight about it before.”

”Because I haven’t been,” Louis mutters into her soft shirt. He suddenly wonders why he’s 17 but mentally 7, but he’ll accept the excuse to be babied for just a moment. ”It doesn’t matter.”

”It does matter if you’re going to make a mess of my house in the process, it does.” She presses a kiss into his hair and he scrunches his face up. ”Why don’t you tell her you like her then?”

His stomach drops at just the choice of pronoun, but he decides to roll with it. He can always mentally flip it in his mind. ”It’s not that easy, mum.”

”It is though.” She grabs his shoulders to pull them gently apart so she can give him a reassuring look in the eyes. ”Poppet, just let her know, it’s not so scary. Even if she doesn’t feel the same back, she’ll feel like the luckiest girl in the world you think something so sweet of her.”

That just kind of makes him want to _cry_. 

He nods bravely though. That’s true, it is; Louis would be fucking ecstatic if someone thought he was fit, and even more so if they had the guts to leave him alone if he said he didn’t want nothing from it afterwards. 

It’s just, kind of hard. Because he wants everything from Harry. Right now, he kind of wants to be Harry’s everything. 

She gives him a meaning look. ”You promise me you’ll be good?”

He smiles weakly. Nods. ”I’ll be good, mum.”

”That’s my little star, that.” She lets him go and ruffles his hair. ”Now, what’s this you’re looking for? I saw Lotts bring the bag of tapes up to her room—”

Louis’ up and away like he’s been shot from a cannon.

 

 

 

He spins the empty tape in his hand, nervously biting the nails of his other one. It’s the next afternoon, he’s having a lovely cup of tea, and in front of him lies everything he found from the pink gym bag of tapes his sister claimed as her own.

There’s the George Michael tape right next to him, the cross earring that he adores when it’s worn by a certain someone else, but. 

Lottie’s collection in front of him has Prince. Abba. Cyndi Lauper, Tracy Chapman, F.R. David, A-ha. 

And, well. His mum’s words do still hang in the back of mind. Let them know. Let _Harry_ know. 

Right. 

And how exactly does he let Harry know? 

He puts the empty tape down and picks up the F.R. David one, flips it over in his hand. He shrugs a little half-heartedly before he pops it into the stereo and turns the volume up. 

He only has to listen for about half a minute of _Words_ before he’s falling back limp on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, sort of blown away. The cog wheels turn. Then he turns into his pillow and proper squeals. 

At the end of it all, Louis has two tapes. One that reads _”George Michael - Faith”_ in his neatest sloppy handwriting, and another one that reads _”oh and by the way these are some things I wish I could say to you but it’s cool if you’re not down and if so I’m honestly very sorry and please don’t feel like you have to talk to me about it”_ across the lined page where the tracklisting should be, signed with his name and a sad smiley face to match. 

He dumps them into his backpack and heads off to football practice feeling all kinds of strange and giddy, humming along to the song as he pedals down the road. 

_”Words don’t come easy to me…”_

 

 

 

”Great game, boys! Fantastic work those last minutes, Tomlinson. See you lot next week.”

Louis walks off the pitch, muscles weak and twitchy but with a huge grin plastered on his sweat-gleaming face from the goal he just did which set them even. Liam dunks him on the back and sends him a huge smile when he suddenly jogs past him to the showers and Louis gives a thumbs up. 

It’s only then he sees Harry waiting by the locker room doors, and Louis’ heart drops from his chest to his feet and right down to the other side of the Earth. 

”Harry,” he exclaims, and well. He _tries_ to sound calm, but he just _isn’t_. Harry's just very pretty and that’s just very alarming. 

”Louis,” Harry says, and for some reason he’s looking… equally alarmed? As if he’s surprised too, which he shouldn’t be, because he’s clearly there for him, so…

Why’s he acting as weird as Louis?

Why’s he… staring at his shorts? 

He walks up to him though and, lord almighty, his long hair is in a bun. The cross earring may be gone but he still looks about as picturesque gorgeous as any of Louis’ deepest boy-related thoughts that gets his heart beating really fast. 

Thing is, there’s something about this lighting, too, admittedly; the sun is coming down and everything is orange, a little pink. It makes Harry’s face light up in a way he’s never seen before, and breathing is suddenly a kind of hard task when Harry’s skin is tan and glowing and oh so incredibly touchable. 

”What are you doing here then?” Louis asks, can’t believe he’s even getting cohesive English out when all he can think about is how much he wants to trace his fingers along this boy’s spine, waist, the hinge of his jaw until he can put it under his chin and lean in—

They slow down to a stop in front of each other, and Harry’s got a smile on his face, seems slightly more collected than a moment ago. ”It’s tomorrow night now,” he murmurs softly, as if that’s the only explanation he needs. 

It is the only explanation he needs. ”Shit,” Louis breathes. ”You’re right. Ehm, well, I have the tapes— Oh, yeah, there’s- there’s two tapes...”

Harry furrows his brow in a little bit of astonished confusion. ”Really?”

”Yeah, yeah. I’ll just go get them in me bag.” As a habit, he suddenly pulls his shirt up to wipe his face, still flushed and glistening. ”I’ll just… not shower, that’s fine, not like I’m the grossest thing ever right now and all that.”

When he smooths his shirt down over his tummy again, he realises what he just did and, oh my god. 

Oh my god, the look on Harry’s face. 

”Oh.” He seems so caught off guard, blush suddenly creeping up. He stares at where Louis’ hand is resting above his navel. ”You’re not gross,” he reassures in a strange mumble. 

Louis. Will. _Pop_.

”Oh,” he echoes, and suddenly he feels like he could as well be blushing himself, which would be very embarrassing thanks very fucking much so he points quickly to the locker rooms, clears his throat. ”I’ll just- I’ll be right back. Just ehm, just wait here.”

Despite his exhaustion, he absolutely _sprints_ to get his bag. 

”What’s gone up your ass?” Liam quips when he snatches the backpack from the bench next to him, nearly ripping off the towel tied around his waist in the process with how quickly he’s moving. 

He would have actually turned back and tugged it down, with a comment that snide, but he’s in too good of a mood. Instead he grabs Liam’s temples and plants a loud kiss on top of his shaved head, ruffles it, then runs out giggling as Liam makes gagging noises behind him and it takes all in Louis not to start actually fucking skipping. 

He jogs (with bouncy steps) back out to Harry, still there with his… absolutely wonderful… presence. God, Louis’ at a loss for words because here’s this gorgeous boy waiting for him, in some lame mustard-coloured T-shirt tucked into his corduroy bell-bottom trousers, wine red in colour, so clearly unfashionable though the shade is kind of beautifully resembling his lips; his hands are intertwined behind himself until he goes to slip his bag over his shoulder, and it’s so casual, so normal, and still it’s enough for Louis’ heart to skip a beat in utter affection. 

”Here, sorry,” he breathes, mashing the tapes into Harry’s bag when he opens it for him, finding their place next to an abnormally large pair of round and completely pink sunglasses, for some reason. ”It’s, yeah. Enjoy.”

”Thank you so much,” Harry mouths, so quietly Louis can barely pick it up and it makes him feel guilty how much it makes him want to just wrap his arms around him. They’re not on that level, he has to consciously tell himself, and at this rate they might just never be. ”I really appreciate that, genuinely. I’ll have to return the favour.”

Louis just really wants to kiss him. 

”It’s no problem,” Louis assures, slings his backpack back over his shoulders and Harry pulls his own up as well. ”Got four sisters at home. We share tapes. Well, _steal them_ off each other, more like, but that’s— _Well_ , _I_ steal _theirs_ , because apparently my own collection isn’t good enough for tween girls.”

Harry’s doing that thing again when he’s repressing a smile, nose scrunched up, and Louis could honestly slap himself in the face. This makes sense. He’s so endeared, tummy doing all types of flips, he just needs to snap out of it and not scare the boy off forever. 

”I’m rambling,” Louis decides, staring deadpan, but still; staring. 

Harry shakes his head, and if his hair would have been down it would have had it tumbling over his shoulders, so much that Louis almost mourns the loss of how it would have looked in this lighting. Like waves on the ocean, maybe. Gracious and glorious and glistening gold. ”You’re sweet,” he murmurs, soft as a caress. ”Don’t apologize.”

Louis swallows dryly. ”Right.” He’s still bloody staring, realises he’s also kind of digging his blunt fingernails into his backpack straps too so he probably looks like an absolute psychopath. He drops his gaze from wonderful, plump, softly smiling lips, down to their feet, toes just inches apart. ”Nice flares,” he thinks to say. 

Harry brushes his fingers over his thigh subconsciously, and Louis so badly wishes he was the one doing it. ”Nice shorts.”

It seems to just slip out, a natural comeback, but if Louis was drinking water he might have just choked. He probably should be drinking water, is the thing, to not pass out and all that, or drowning himself in it to not continue to be the grossest boy ever and maybe also avoid potentially bursting into flames. 

”Thanks,” he replies, uncharacteristically quiet. 

His team starts filtering out the locker room, some of them throwing them filthy glares but Louis couldn’t care less. He literally couldn’t even give a shit. There’s a fucking angel in front of him, boys, so keep on fucking walking. 

He looks up at Harry again, his front teeth now digging into his bottom lip with a small smile. ”Well,” Louis says, voice hearse, ”I’ll let you go.” He nods to his bike, his mum’s old and rusty thing stood leaned against the wall of the building. ”I should head home before mum starts calling the whole neighbourhood.”

Harry nods slowly, tucks a stray strand of hair behind his tiny, adorable ear. ”Same.”

And Louis just can’t contain himself. ”Want a ride?”

It makes Harry chuckle a little, which is a win in itself. He wishes he could get laughs out of this boy more often. Not even for selfish reasons, but - well, that too, but just. 

He just deserves it. Harry just deserves to be happy. 

He wraps his arms around himself, a little shy and a little skeptical. ”I think it’s the other direction from you.” 

”I’ll drive you up the road, then,” Louis says confidently in reference to the path leading up from the football pitch, already walking off to his bike. ”Giddy up, Curly.”

In the short minute or so it takes for them to get up on the bike and figure out how Harry should maneuver his long limbs and how Louis will keep his balance and still get them both alive uphill, it’s like Harry can’t grip him tight enough from where he’s sat pressed chest-to-back. 

And he is gripping tight. 

His arms wrap around his middle, resting comfortably just over his hips, and Louis feels his knees brush his bare thighs when he finally manages to put his toes to the little thingys that stick out from the middle of the back-wheels. For the short time filled with scared yelps and frustrated huffs of breaths and giggles - maybe it’s even just a fraction of a second - Harry’s warmth behind him feels undoubtedly much like Heaven. 

Then he’s jumping off, and Louis looks over his shoulder, bikes around in a circle on the deserted road. ”Alright?”

Harry brushes his trousers off then gives a thumbs up. ”My trousers are alive.”

”That’s a yes?” Louis laughs, honestly bubbling with happiness. He feels so light, and so, so alive. 

”Duh,” Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes sweetly. He gives Louis a little wave. ”Thank you so much for this, Lou. I mean it.”

”Thank _you_ ,” Louis replies, just as genuinely. For what, he could never explain. He starts rolling down his own road home, raises his hand back to him. ”Goodnight, Harry.”

”Be safe,” Harry calls as a last goodbye. 

And then Louis lets his gaze linger for as long as he can before he risks actually driving down the ditch, before he focuses his eyes forward again, stands up on the pedals to go quickly down the road and take out some of that adrenaline suddenly pumping in his veins. 

And he thought he was exhausted. His insides are more so soaring with power, all of a sudden. 

He rolls down the road and can’t resist the huge smile on his face. Enormous. He breathes in the chill, moist air deeply, exhaling in a happy sigh as he looks up at the colourful sky. 

That’s when he remembers Harry just got the most embarrassing love-explanation in the shape of a mixtape stuffed into his bag and Louis can’t take it back. 

He swerves and curses under his breath when he almost hits the edge of the pavement. 

Time to hibernate until nobody remembers his name and the awkward things he’s done, then.

 

 

 

He wonders frantically if he’s listening. What he’s listening to. 

The tape starts with _Words_ by F.R. David, ends with _Sugar, Sugar_ by the Archies. Somewhere in the middle there’s some _Give A Little Bit_ by Supertramp, Beach Boys’ _Good Vibrations_ and _Just What I Needed_ from his own self-bought album by The Cars. 

It’s good songs, it is. Absolutely no complaints about them music-wise, not even lyrics-wise. 

They’re just. 

_A lot._ Maybe they’re too much. 

He doesn’t want to think about it, but it keeps penetrating its way into his mind even more, the more he tries to shut it out. That first track rings constantly in his head like he’s been cursed, like an embarrassing memory keeping him up while trying to toss himself to sleep at night, except. Except he’s living it right now. He's awake, Harry's awake, and Harry might be listening, and Louis definitely cocked up with this one.

Because, _”words don’t come easy to me”_ , and _”how can he find a way to make you see…_

_I love you?”_

Well, this would be it, wouldn’t it now? The only way. 

Totally logical. 

He throws his pillow across the room, falls back into bed and _groans_. This is by far his lowest moment. Like, did the song really have to drop really have to drop _the L-word_ so Louis can’t even laugh it off when Harry comes asking? 

What if he never comes asking? What if he never talks to him again?

He’s in the shit for sure.

 

 

 

When Lottie peeks her blonde-ponytailed head through his door a little later, he’s about ready to burst up and leave through the window, because she must have noticed he’s been rummaging through her cassettes and definitely didn’t put the _Words_ album back in the place he got it (because, it’s in his room now, he touched it and the album touched his soul and now it is his). 

He’s honestly ready to take a beating. A sister of his would know how to throw a swing. 

So he sits up with a start in bed with a loud creak, which in turns makes her jump back and cover her eyes and _shriek bloody murder_ , which in turn makes him scream _just as loudly_ right back at her. ”Aaahh why are we yelling?!”

”I thought you were masturbating!” Lottie squeaks in reply, way too loud, and Louis suddenly almost falls off the bed with how much he’s _laughing_. 

”Lottie! No!” He scoots down to let his feet to hang over the edge of the bed, and she slowly emerges from behind the cover of her hands. ”I was just surprised, jesus. Would close the door then, wouldn’t I?”

She pulls a grossed out look. ”I honestly don’t want to know, Lou.”

 _Teenagers._ He rolls his eyes. ”What’s up then, love?” He pats the spot beside him at the foot of the bed. ”Wanna sit?”

She’s suddenly pulling a mischievous look at him, like the Grinch on Christmas or something, and he’s suddenly reminded once again how this is in fact his sister. When he was younger he loved having a laugh convincing her she was adopted from aliens, but no one but his own blood could have a knowing smirk like that. 

”Phone’s for you,” she says, and Louis narrows his eyes at her. 

”Liam or Niall?” he asks as he gets up to walk past her out the door. He’s changed out of his footie clothes and had a hot shower and all, but still his feet ache a little from shoes that are just a tad bit too small. 

She blocks the door with her tiny frame. ”It’s a, let’s see…” She wiggles her brows excessively, and Louis lowers his own in response. Tic, toc. ”A certain _Harry Styles_.”

He pushes past her then, sprinting down the stairs to get the phone. She screams annoyedly after him - something about his name and what a prick he is and other nonsense coming out of nowhere - which is the tell-tale sign he’ll have to have a conversation to his mum later about _violence_ even though Lottie clearly _provoked him_ , officer. 

(He’s clearly the victim here; his own sister just tried to keep him locked in his room like the thug she is, and his school mate has _stolen_ his _heart_ , what the hell.)

He gets the phone where it’s stood leaning against the receiver as Lottie has left it, with the customary pink chewing-gum she’s stamped the mirror with above it, and sinks down against the wall trying not to pant. ”Hey it’s me,” he answers, and he’s definitely panting. 

”Louis?” comes Harry’s wonderful, lovely, warm and happy voice crackling through from the other end. 

He’s just kind of the best thing ever, isn’t he?

”Harry,” Louis states a little breathlessly, and he doesn’t really know how he can sound so in love just by the way his voice comes out, but he really thinks he does and he really hopes Harry doesn’t pick up on it. 

”Hi, uh, listen. I’ve heard your tape-” he starts, and Louis wonders, wonders, wonders. Which one is it? Does Harry hate him? Should he start apologizing now or later? ”I said I’d return the favour, so um.”

There’s silence, just some static on the line. Louis twirls the cord around his finger. ”So…”

”So, if you’d like to come over…” He hesitates, which is nice because Louis’ head is suddenly spinning again and it’s kind of grounding to listen to Harry’s gentle breaths. ”I could give it to you.”

”You already have one?” Louis has to ask, because they saw each other like four hours ago tops, and it’s also eight on a saturday and he really shouldn’t be out this late, but. 

”Well, I _had_ one,” Harry corrects, thoughtful. ”It was already done. It’s, um. It’s nothing too special. I just think you should have it.”

It warms his heart so much it could probably melt all winter snow in the world. ”That’s really nice, Harry,” he murmurs, genuinely so touched. So touched he doesn’t even care what the hell he sounds like. ”That’s so nice. How far up that road is it you live?”

”Just about five minutes if you take your bike, I’ll come out and meet you. If you leave now?”

Louis is off the floor in a second flat. ”Yeah, I’ll go now, yeah. Thank you.”

If Louis is not mistaken (which he might be, he probably is - but he just really doesn’t think he is), Harry sounds like he’s smiling when he continues. ”I can’t wait to see you.”

Louis lingers for a moment. ”Neither,” he admits quietly. ”Be there soon.”

Harry hums happily. ”Bye.”

He puts the phone down, stares at it. Then he breathes out heavily, makes prayer hands to the ceiling with his eyes closed tightly, a smile on his face. 

Thank. The. Fucking. Heavens. 

He rushes out to the hall, stepping into his sneakers and pulling a peach jumper over his head. ”Mum,” he calls, tucking it neatly into his faded jeans, ”I’m going to Harry’s.”

”Oh,” she calls from the kitchen, surprised. She’s never heard of him before. She has no idea he’s made of sunshine and gold and carefully-sculpted mahogany. ” _Harry._ And where is it _Harry_ lives?”

”Just up the other road from the pitch. Listen, I’ve got to go, I’ll call you from theirs if there’s trouble alright?”

He pats his pockets, doesn’t have a wallet or anything but reminds himself he doesn’t need anything, won’t even wear a helmet these days. He considers his favourite denim jacket hanging next to him on a hook but decides against it. Harry’s denim jacket has pins and patches. His has unintentional _rips_ and _holes_. 

”Be careful, baby,” she tells him, and he smiles. 

”Always,” he promises, then he’s out the door and jumps down the two steps to where he’s put his bike down, pulls it up and shakes it once to rid it from gravel. 

He jumps onto the pedal to sling his leg over, then he steers off into the breezy air. 

The sound of crickets and far-away conversations is his only soundtrack as he soars down on the asphalt, the winds of a chill summer night fanning across his face as he inhales the scent of grass after a hot day. He used to love taking early-morning rides when the scenery was something similar, he remembers, only there would be birds chirping, cerise sifting across the pale blue sky and dew on the vast fields by the football pitch, now to his left as he pedals on past the dirt road. 

It only takes those five minutes up Harry’s street until he sees a person emerge from a driveway. He’s only so lucky it’s not a murderer when he’s out alone past his usual time like this, because it’s Harry that waves at him as he approaches, and Louis slows to a stop to jump off in front of him. 

He’s got his big, brown-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose. 

Which is only Louis’ favourite thing ever. 

Well, it's them, the shirt that makes his arms look toned and caramel-coloured, and the dungarees he sometimes wears. It's quite unfair, to be honest, because Harry just has this tendency of wearing them denim things over white tees, and while Liam has a tendency of making fun of them because he thinks he looks less cute and hot and all else all at once and more like a _gardener_ , Louis has still not quite recovered from this week when one of the clasps came undone right before his eyes like the power of his stare made it happen and then his thoughts went wandering for miles.

”Evenin’,” Louis greets when no one says anything more intelligent. 

And, listen. It’s far too light out in summer to have any stars up in the sky, but thing is, Harry’s got all that brightness shining right from those eyes of his right this moment. So he feels absolutely no loss. He’s golden. He’s tired and his hair looks disarranged - maybe artfully so - and he’s still golden. 

The memories from earlier sift back, how happy and alive he felt, how he felt Harry’s energy buzz as well. It feels as though they’re back in that moment and he honestly never wants to leave it. Like anything could happen and anything would still be fine. 

”Hey,” Harry murmurs back, smiles kindly. He adjusts his glasses. ”Oh, these are lame. Sorry.”

He’s still in the same outfit save for the trousers, exchanged by a much stylish pair of silk pyjama bottoms, pale yellow in colour with Snoopy of all things as the print. And as much as Louis would rather not think any filthy thoughts about such a lovely creature, such a sweet being with such a sweet presence, he can’t deny how much the thought has occupied him before, and he can’t deny he’s very thankful Harry’s shirt is tall enough to reach past his hips, because… 

Just because. 

He might have dropped dead with how much of an outline a fabric like that can create in specific areas of interest. Oh well. Moving swiftly on. 

”They’re nice,” Louis says honestly, back to his glasses, almost reaches to slide them back up his nose. He wishes he could touch, he does; wishes he could rub the silk between his fingers then caress him gently across the cheek, convinced it would feel just as soft as the other. 

Harry smiles. ”Thanks,” he mouths. ”So.”

”So…” Louis can’t fight his own smile. He scuffs the toes of his sneakers against the ground. ”I’m here.”

”Yeah, uh.” Harry tucks a strands of hair behind his ear, a little nervous. He’s got _Be Kind_ written along the side of his Converse, and everything feels so buoyant. ”I, well. I wanted to ask you.” He looks up at him with a concerned wrinkle on his forehead. ”The two tapes.”

Louis’ smile drops. Oh, dear. 

He hums as a prompt through now pressed-together lips, and it comes out sounding shrill. 

”No, please,” Harry rushes, puts his hands out to touch as reassurance without quite getting there. ”I was just wondering. Should I… Should I be reading into, um.” He looks down at his hands, fumbling around as he tries to explain. ”God, this is weird to say.”

Louis swallows dryly. ”I’m so sorry.”

Harry looks up at him again, and Louis’ white-knuckling his steering wheel, stomach aflame but it stings icy cold. ”Huh?” he utters, confused. He puts his hands over his chest instead, rubbing at his knuckles. ”Was it? I mean… was that for me? Like. Like _really_ for me?”

Louis doesn’t know why, but for some ungodly reason, he thinks Harry might just sound… _Hopeful._

”Harry.” He shakes his head dejectedly, jaw set. ”Please don’t fuck with me.”

Harry’s eyes are soft on him then, lips parted in confusion, so pink, so _inviting_. ”Louis,” he murmurs, as soft as that silk, drops his hands and his nervous stance. ”I’m not.”

”Then why are you asking?” Louis demands, only then realises he’s actually whispering. He also realises he can’t stop looking at Harry’s lips.

He’s really alone with Harry this time. 

And then Harry’s taking a step closer. ”I want to know,” he explains to him slowly; slowly, so he’ll understand. ”Do you like me?”

Louis’ world crumbles. 

He doesn’t say anything; he can’t. Harry tilts his head a little, bites his lip for just a second as he thinks, and it makes Louis’ entire body burn. ”Just…” Harry starts, cautious. ”Just tell me if you don’t, then.”

Louis flickers his eyes back up to Harry’s again. He feels strangely heavy with longing, with anticipation, something sharp and bold all at one surging through his body, making his insides buzz. He doesn’t say a word. 

Harry’s lips quirk momentarily, like in victory, then they’re back to being soft. Parted, pondering. 

He takes a shaky breath in, holds it. ”Will you kiss me?”

Louis’ breath hitches. The sharp, bold thing surging within hits him square in the tummy, right where his arousal sits. Explosion. ”What?”

Harry’s looking right at him. Right into his fucking soul. He wets his lips without haste, eyes half-lidded and hazy. ”Kiss me.”

Louis stares at Harry as he tries to let the words sink in, tries to read him. Harry, sunshine-bright, honey-sweet. The boy he finds the most beautiful in the world. He really isn’t fucking with him. 

Harry really wants to kiss him. 

Louis swallows his pride. He tentatively uncoils one of his hands from around the steering wheel as he keeps his eyes set on Harry. It aches from how hard he’s been gripping it when he brings it up through the air between them, cautiously; it feels like electricity, like he could be zapped. 

But when he touches his jaw, when he finally gets to brush his thumb over the chiseled edge, the hinge… Harry’s eyes almost flutter closed. 

His breath stutters prettily when Louis sweeps his fingertips feather-light down the slope like he’s been dreaming of doing, and Louis feels warm all the way from the inside to the outside, touching him like he’s making a flower bloom. 

In a way it makes it seem strangely much like Harry’s been dreaming of it too. 

He stands on his toes to reach him, haltingly and aiming carefully, cheeks burning. He closes his eyes slowly and then, their lips meet with a soft press. A shaky breath leaves him halfway and he stays, both of them just pressing together, warm, trembling. His insides spark with something amazing. It feels as though something heavy is released. 

All he can really think of is how equally delicately Harry’s pressing his lips back to his before he leans back down and away, eyes opening to stare wide-eyed at Harry for his genuine reaction. 

His eyes are dark. He can’t be looking much better off himself. 

And then it’s Harry that’s leaning down for him. He cups his face with one hand, pulls him in by his waist with the other, hungrily pressing their mouths together again. Louis meets him with a small, muffled moan, lips slotting together, opening, closing and massaging. Louis’ knees nearly buckle beneath him. 

His arm goes slinging around Harry’s shoulders, those beautiful, steady things and he grabs the back of his shirt just to do, _anything_ , honestly, just touch him. Just touch him, feel him, and he just grasps for sanity, digs his fingers in so harshly he might just bruise him, and it feels as if they're both just glowing. 

Harry kisses him, and he doesn’t stop kissing him. 

And it really is like something is just draped from off his shoulders. He feels light, but heavy with emotion; high, but down in deep longing, devotion, _lust_. There’s warmth pouring down his spine, but really, it’s coming from right in front of him. 

It feels like an exhale. 

The clang of Louis’ bike falling sideways onto the asphalt is the only thing that breaks them apart this time. Louis didn’t even realise he melted so much into Harry’s touch he actually forgot to keep holding it, and they both jump apart, staring at it. 

When they look back to each other, they both chuckle breathily. Harry’s flushed, glasses a little comically fogged up, lips a darker red already and Louis can’t believe he’s the reason. He can’t believe he just kissed him. 

”You’re beautiful,” he croaks out, and it’s the most honest thing in the world. 

Harry smiles, different now. He’s been acting so coy and nervous, and now he seems confident again, like something lifted from him too. ”So are you,” he says softly, licks his lips. _Tastes him_. ”I’ve been… thinking it, for a while.”

”Yeah?” Louis breathes out through a wide smile, feels his eyes are all big and loving on him again so he breaks the stare, leans over to pick his bike back up; bless it. 

”Yeah,” Harry confirms breathlessly, as giddy as he is. ”Have you?”

He steadies his bike, leans one arm against the steering wheel. ”Since the first time I saw you, probably,” he admits bravely, thinking about that first day of school when he passed a gorgeous stranger outside of the library and became a mere second or two in his memory when he wanted to be everything. Then he realises what he just said and tips his head back to the skies, smiling sarcastically good-naturedly. ”Shit.”

Harry cups his face, turns his head back so gently. He’ll never stop smiling, will he? ”I love that,” he murmurs, and he drops his eyes to Louis’ lips. He sweeps his thumb across his bottom lip, so intimate, so passionate that Louis’ tummy flutters. ”Um,” he mumbles, fixated by it. ”Do you want to... come inside, or?” 

At a loss, Louis stares with parted lips. He pecks his thumb with a kiss, and Harry snaps out of the bold moment and scrunches his nose up in delight. ”Maybe we should… take it slowly,” he ponders as Harry starts fixing Louis’ fringe instead, _love-drunk_ , pins the long bit behind his ear neatly as Louis just stares in awe. ”I mean, I don’t know what… what _it_ is, but. I’m a little overwhelmed. Like am I swaying or is it just the Earth?”

”You’re fine,” Harry assures him with a chuckle, brushing over his forehead a last time, so gentle and caring. Louis would like to be twirling his hair around his finger too, wants to adorn it with daisies and pin a sunflower behind his cute little ear but he’s not sure he’s emotionally ready for more dreams to come true today. ”I’m fine too. And, I can come over tomorrow? Give you the tape?”

”Oh, shit, yeah,” Louis remembers. ”Fuck yeah. Please do. I’m excited.”

”Me too,” Harry murmurs, finally stepping back. ”To see you.”

Louis nods slowly. ”Always.” He drums his fingers over the steering wheel. ”Well. I’ll go and try to process this all now. I just.” He reaches out for Harry’s waist, for absolutely no reason other than that he thinks he can. ”I don’t really want to go.”

He’s just kind of scared what he’ll embarrass himself with if he stays. (Being in Harry’s room right now seems like dangerous territory considering he’s guiltily humped his pillow to the thought of him just one too many times before.)

But Harry puts his hand on top of his, then he takes it in his own. He uses it to pull him in, leans down with a smile, and kisses him again. 

Louis’ knees are extremely close to buckling. 

”Call me tomorrow,” Harry pleads as Louis climbs his bike shakily. He feels like he’s just run around the pitch a good four times; this high only comparable to his usual runner’s high, minus the ache. ”Tell me when to be over.”

It’s another type of ache. 

”Literally whenever you want,” Louis replies eagerly. ”Literally stay until monday, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Harry smiles so wide. He wraps his arms around himself against the chill air, so beautiful. ”Goodnight, Louis.”

Louis smiles back at him, lingers in a moment he can’t believe is even happening in the first place. ”See you very soon,” he replies, before he starts pedalling up the road. 

Again he finds himself going up the lonely street, only this time, he’s positive he’s not actually biking. He’s floating. Flying through the air on pink fucking clouds, because holy shit, Harry just kissed him. He just kissed Harry. 

He wants to ask so many questions, and still, Louis’ thoughts connect the dots then all on their own. Because maybe Harry liked him the whole time. 

Why else did he act so nervous when Louis knows him for his usual confidence? How else did he know he had footie then and there, and why else would he come? Why did he call him over? 

He kind of wants to smack himself in the face again, but for completely different reasons. Well, still because he feels crazy in love, but also for being so dim. It was there the whole time and yet he looked past it, how Harry was acting just the same as him, because he felt just the same way back. 

He looks up at a sky that’s seeping in cerise over the pale blue, but with fluffy strokes in pale yellow across it like a most beautiful painting, and his insides feel like they’re sparkling.

 

 

 

He might wake Liam up when he calls him. Liam, the champ he is, would never point out such a thing. 

”Hey,” he answers, voice gruff and Louis can hear him smack his lips before he reaches for his customary glass of water. His teddy is probably right next to him. 

”We just kissed,” Louis wheezes while cupping his hand around the receiver, and he can’t believe these words even go together. _These are words that go together well._

He slides down against the wall where their phone is located in the hall; Liam’s a bastard for having one on his bedside table. Proper wanker. 

He can _hear_ how Liam’s furrowing his brow then and staring into the wall while trying to work it out. He probably looks so adorable Louis would be smacking another kiss on his hedgehog head if he wasn’t on the other side of town. ”You and me?”

”Me and Harry,” Louis clarifies, laughing breathily. If he wakes his little sisters up it’s _over_ ; combine that fuck-up with pushing past his dearest evil sister and disappearing into the night (to make out with a boy) and he’d have to move to Antarctica. ”Liam. We _kissed_. Harry wanted to _kiss_ me.”

Liam flips over, maybe onto his back just in utter shock. ”Bro!” he exclaims, then clamps a hand over his mouth. ”Bro, no way.”

”Bro,” Louis grins, ”yes way.”

”I think I’m missing a few details here,” he ponders aloud. He yawns suddenly. ”How did this… come about? You didn’t even- uh, what? You don’t even _talk_ ”

”We talked,” Louis defends, scandalised, but it breaks. ”Ehm. No, you’re right. Listen, babes, I hear your struggle. Please go back to sleep-”

”I wa’nt sleep’n,” Liam mumbles, painfully sleepily. 

”-and I’ll tell you tomorrow. You can tell Niall, I just didn’t want him to yell at me in Irish. Too much in one day.”

Liam’s already snoozing soundly. ”Tomorrow,” he confirms and yawns again. ”Happy for you, Lou. So happy. G’night.”

”Night, Li,” Louis smiles and puts the phone back down. 

He tiptoes up the stairs and into his room. He’s happy for himself too. 

In fact, he’s so happy his brain can’t even catch a break to let him fall asleep for more than a few hours into the early morning. That’s absolutely fucking fine too, because he just kissed Harry bloody Styles.

 

 

 

When Louis guides Harry bloody Styles over the doorstep to his room, his heart is just about doing backflips into space. 

He tidied it frantically the whole morning (or maybe it was more just like 15 minutes) so it’s none of that, even. No cobwebs in the corner, no mysteriously clammy tissues or dead bodies under his bed to be ashamed of. 

It’s more just that Harry smells really good and is wearing this shirt that’s kind of unfairly cropped, kind of unmistakably resembling Johnny Depp in that one horror movie with Freddy Krueger which Louis definitely didn’t watch just to see him. (Except he’s lying, and he definitely did watch it just to see him, and both him and Lottie were curled up behind their pillows and only peeking out to ogle Johnny a little up and down every time he came on screen.)

So. He’s just incredibly nervous when he closes the door behind himself. Because suddenly he’s alone with crop-top wearing, nice-smelling, _cross-earring_ -adorning Harry; not by a football pitch, not in the middle of a street. They’re alone behind a closed door and Harry’s twirling around his room and looking at all his stuff while Louis’ staring at the slope of his toned, tan lower back. 

He already misses kissing him. 

(Which… maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about while staring at anyplace other than his lips, but...)

Louis sits down on his creaky bed as Harry looks down his bookcase, studying the spines of the books to see if they’re compatible, probably. This is when everything could go wrong, folks; Harry’s clearly a bit of a slut for a good read so if Louis’ sparse collection doesn’t meet his criteria he might just leave right where he came from. 

” _Great Gatsby_ ,” Harry mumbles curiously, tracing it with his finger. ”He’s a dream, that Jay Gatsby, isn’t he?”

Louis huffs a laugh. ”Damn right.” He’s sort of used to his guy pals swooning over Jordan Baker, if he’s honest, which is in fact a female and Gatsby is in fact a male. He wonders suddenly if Harry’s the kind of person to proudly blast _I’m Coming Out_ for the family, or maybe at least some Cher? 

He tells Harry a summarized half of this, making him giggle. He sweeps his fingers across the rest of the books, and Louis’ terrified he’ll find them covered in dust because he hasn’t actually read these in a while. He hesitates at _Lord of the Flies_ , _Carrie_ , _1984_. Those are clearly some of the winners. 

He reaches into his pocket suddenly. ”Oh,” he goes, tosses a cassette tape onto his bed before slipping out _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_ for his inspection. ”This is yours.”

Louis tries to catch it, misses, and is glad Harry didn’t see any of it. ”Rude,” he states, and Harry breathes a laugh as he starts flipping the pages. ”Want me to also get a chair for Your Majesty?”

Harry turns to look over his shoulder for a split second with a smug smirk on his face before he turns back. ”Your lap would do.”

_Ah._

Louis ignores how his tummy feels like a wet rag being twisted out, just snorts in reply because _wow hilarious_ and he fumbles to get the cassette out of its cover. He plops it into his stereo and presses play, then looks down at the tape, enticed by the little ballpoint-pen flowers drawn in the corners of the plain white album cover. 

When he reads down the list, as a soft drumming starts ringing out followed by psychedelic guitar-picking, his emotions don’t get much better off. 

_x flock of seagulls - space age love song_  
_x eric carmen - hungry eyes_  
_x fleetwood mac - everywhere_  
_x the beatles - I want to hold your hand_  
_x the bangles - eternal flame_  
_x rolling stones - just your fool_

But. 

But that’s. 

That’s all _love songs_.

He looks up at Harry, breath stuck somewhere in his throat as the song moves on, and the moment feels about as haphazardly dreamy as the music in the background. A soundtrack for their lives. 

Harry’s head is tipped forward, book open in his palms like he’s reading but really, Louis knows he’s listening. He’s listening too. 

_”The sun will rise, and you made me smile, for a little while;_

_I was falling in love.”_

Harry’s silhouette in his blue jeans snug on his little waist below the love handles is enough to write a billion love songs about. (He’s pretty sure love handles were named after Harry’s lovely shape, right where Louis should put his hands and pull him in, kiss him slowly, slow dance with him. Actually, Harry should probably lead. Louis knows fuck all about slow dancing.)

”Harry,” Louis starts, but then he doesn’t really know what to say. He did this too, is the thing, put a bunch of love songs for Harry on a tape. He just didn’t realise it was— well, like, didn’t Harry say he _already had this made_ before Louis brought his? 

Jesus christ. He just never thought it was so _mutual_. Full of surprises, this one; Louis will struggle with heart palpitations before the end of the year. 

”I hope that’s not… weird,” Harry tries, looking down mindlessly in the book. ”I think you’ll actually like the songs, like. I just wanted you to know, I guess.” 

He closes it, slips it back carefully into its place again. He’s chewing his lip nervously. (Louis wants to be the one biting it.)

”But you-” Louis stops himself to think before he speaks. ”You had this before I gave you yours?”

He’s sort of in awe. _”I was falling in love.”_

Harry shrugs a little awkwardly. ”It was inspired by you, more like,” he explains. ”I didn’t think I’d ever have to give it to you. Or I mean, have reason to, or… be _able_ to.” He turns around, finally, _finally_. ”I hope you get how much it meant to me you really did that… for me...”

Cogwheels spin in Louis’ mind. He furrows his brow through a little laugh. ”Have we just been secretly in love with each other this whole time?”

Harry shrugs again, smiling, and he almost blushes. Oh. ”I guess." _Oh!_ "I didn’t know what to say— uh, _Hungry Eyes_ explains it, actually. And, because words don’t come easy, right? Easier explained in a song.” He rubs his knuckles contemplatively, and Louis' chest feels like it's filled with butterflies. ”But I mean, I thought you could tell and was freaked out, like that you tried to stay away from me, because you could tell I really liked you. I don’t even know anyone who’s- you know.”

Anyone who’s gay. Well, hell, neither does Louis. He’s seen them on TV and all, Freddie Mercury in his leather outfits and what have you, and he’s heard all the unnecessary comments that comes with. 

It was just pretty clear to Louis he was, though, what with the whole, his friends like Jordan Baker and he wants a Jay Gatsby. How he always gravitated towards queer musicians like a safe place instead of watching Baywatch for some free boobs. 

Oh, and he has a huge fucking crush on this beautiful boy in front of him suddenly confessing his love right back, and all that. Crazy how things work out. 

He shakes his head aimlessly. ”Neither do I,” he says. ”Doesn’t make it an excuse to dislike you, either way. If I avoided you it was because I liked you too much.”

Harry smiles gently. ”Charmed,” he murmurs, and he walks cautiously over to Louis before he sits down next to him with a little creak of the bed. 

It’s _Hungry Eyes_ that starts then, and they look at each other silently. 

His pulse thickens for some reason. Because, again, repeating for the back row: he’s alone with Harry. Closed door. 

And suddenly they’re significantly closer than the first time he had these thoughts. 

The moment feels hot like the summer air outside, like tension you could touch. He doesn’t want there to be anything between them though. He wants to feel, wants to displace the tension with friction. He wants to-

_Oh, god, he just wants so much._

Louis gestures to his lap, breathing high in his throat. ”Wasn’t this the seat of choice?”

He just _has to_. 

Harry grins, rather mischievous and suddenly he’s getting up. In one swift motion - like he was just _waiting_ for the cue - he’s swinging his leg over Louis’ waist and planting himself in his lap, snakes his arms around his shoulders and hooks them behind his neck. 

He peers down over Louis, looking like absolute _sex_ and Louis hopes so bad he can’t tell how badly his dick just twitched in his jeans. ”Woah.”

Harry laughs breathily, leaning their foreheads together and Louis smiles too, some nervosity disappearing. Some. 

_”I look at you and I fantasize, you’re mine tonight”_

Harry’s smile slowly fades to the thumping music, and he licks his lips, like he’s only now suddenly aware how close they are. Louis mimics his movements. Slowly, he brings his hands up, touches Harry’s sides delicately. 

A stutter of a breath leaves Harry’s sinfully pretty lips. 

Slowly, he slides his fingertips down his skin, warm under his touch, pulse thick. Harry quivers slightly, grip around him tightening, and Louis emits something that’s half just a hum, half a full-on turned on whimper as he feels Harry press closer. 

Slowly, he continues downwards. 

He hesitates at the waistline of his jeans, thinks about it, whether to go back up and under his shirt, or down and under… well.

He slips them down on top of the denim instead, cups his ass and a proper gasp rips from Harry. Instantly he grinds forward, and suddenly he’s sitting right on top of Louis’ aching, hard dick. 

”Shit, Harry,” Louis swears, fingers kneading in as Harry rolls his hips ever so slightly. ”Fuck.”

”That’s okay?” Harry asks breathlessly. He grinds a little more, cross earring dangling with the movement, so erotic Louis’ a tad bit more than just dizzy. 

Harry’s thighs tighten their grip around his legs, movements more deliberate, more forceful but still painstakingly slow. Filthily rubbing them both together through their layers of clothing as the bed creaks below them and Louis’ just pinned down to take it. 

"Babe," Harry breathes through an uptight laugh, sounding pressed, cheeks flushed. "Good? I'm just- are you-" 

”God, yeah,” Louis replies in a whisper, though his legs are kind of trapped, his dick kind of _throbbing_ against his own thighs and it’s kind of getting too much. It makes him want to beg, beg, beg. ”Could you just-?” he tries, and wiggles for emphasis. ”Can I-?”

”Oh,” Harry mouths, stilling shakily. ”Sorry, mhm. Yeah, just-”

His usually quite clumsy limbs somehow manage to cooperate. He moves his right leg from off Louis’ left one, at the same time as he moves Louis’ leg up by lifting him from beneath his knee. 

He slots his thigh beneath his instead, crotches suddenly _flush_ together, and they both share moans when their lips meet for a faint brush in the middle. 

In bed, Harry has it all figured out. 

"Better?" he asks, already trembling against him, and Louis is nothing but just as desperate. 

He pulls him closer by his waist. "Please just fucking _move_ again," he whispers under his breath, making Harry's lips quirk upwards against his. Louis presses them together in a haste, wet kiss, nothing gentle about how badly he wants him right now. 

Harry humps him with force then. He keeps holding his leg back from underneath his thigh, making Louis bump into the wall so that he’s almost scared someone would hear. But it just feels so fucking good he can’t even begin to complain. He’s choking on breaths instead, mindblown, slipping his hands back up Harry’s waist again, back down in a caress, then up and under his shirt. 

He drags his blunt fingernails down his skin this time, just tentatively, trying, but it's enough to make Harry bury his face in the crook of his neck and _moan_.

The sound goes straight to his dick. 

” _Fuck_ ,” Louis whimpers into his hair, dragging his nails with more force and knows he’ll leave welts on his precious skin just barely visible with his top. ”God, you’re so fucking— you’re _everything_.”

Harry hums against his skin, and he sounds so far gone, Louis can’t even begin to consider what he’s sounding like himself. 

Harry loses his composure slightly and his hand slips from his leg, falls to the side for him to lean on as support as he moves above him. He breathes hotly against his neck, finding more of a pace, halting occasionally like he’s on rhythm to roll his hips just tentatively. Then back to the grinding, the filthy kind that makes Louis choke out a whimper each time he starts, keeps whining all the way through. _Teasing_ it out.

When Harry kisses his neck, Louis sees stars. He hooks his leg Harry’s waist and thrusts up against him. 

And Harry _bites_ him. 

”Fuck,” Harry moans, and Louis has never heard him swear before. ”I need to touch you. Lou, my _god_ \- Can I-?”

Harry’s gripping the back of his shirt while Louis digs his fingers into his skin, trying so hard to alternate and caress him too, treat him like the prince he most definitely is but it’s hard with Harry’s teeth still scraping over that spot of his neck that feels the best, and then with his wet, hot lips kissing it better.

”Yeah,” Louis whispers, head spinning, feeling stiff like iron and soft like fluid all at the same time. ”Touch me. I want to.”

Harry’s hands are down and unbuttoning Louis’ jeans in two seconds flat. He reaches into his boxer shorts (plain white, thank god) and pulls him out, completely hard and it’s kind of extremely overwhelming. 

He’s just gasping and whimpering one after the other and all at the same time as Harry wraps his big, perfect hand around him. 

”Oh my god,” Harry moans, looking down at him with his long hair spilling over Louis’ shoulder as he jerks him off, immediately knowing just how to do it. ”Look at that.” 

Louis looks. Harry screws his hand around his head, then down his whole length, then up and thumbing at his head again. It’s all to wet sounds, so quick but _skilled_ and Louis can barely _breathe_ it feels so good. 

”Do me,” Harry instructs in a breath, and Louis is nothing but eager to pull Harry’s zip down. 

He takes him out as well, not at all as talented, not at all as flawless and he’s _shaking_ but when Harry’s big, leaking cock is in his hand, his mouth just absolutely _waters_.

”Fuck,” he repeats, because he doesn’t know how else to describe anything, and he jerks tentatively along his length with a trying hand. It’s received well though, with a complimentary nibble at the sensitive crook of his neck from Harry. ”You’re amazing.”

He loves the feel of him, the hotness and the weight, would love to feel it on his tongue if he’s honest; on his knees like girls in particular kinds of magazines his friends like to skim through and coo over. He’d love to _taste_ , taste the salt and the sweetness and make him feel amazing. 

”Wait a sec,” Harry whispers against his skin, suddenly with an idea, and he turns his head down to them again. ”I wanna try, just—”

He stretches his hand back to where Louis’ is, wraps his thumb around himself, which. Which presses their dicks together hotly, and then he’s jerking his hand. 

And then his big hand is just sliding along their lengths and getting them both off at the same time. 

Louis’ own hand falls limp to the side, tummy burning with arousal. The edges of his vision are whiting out; he’s about to come. 

”Harry, _fuck_ ,” he chants, and he finally finds the strength to move his useless hand, uses it to cup Harry’s face and desperately bring his lips to his. 

It’s hot, it’s filthy, it’s absolutely perfect and then he’s falling back against the wall and gasping, and Harry _knows_ and just jerks them off faster. Slick sounds bounce between them over the music, Harry’s hand sliding over both their swollen heads until Louis releases the breath he was holding with a whine, releases all the rest of his tension and spills hotly over both of them, gushing down Harry’s nimble fingers. 

He tries to come down from the high quickly and be back with Harry on the same wavelength and all, watch his face as he comes, touch him and cherish him. He flutters his eyes open but still feels just as mushy and useless, still riding the feeling as he tucks himself back lazily into his boxers and watches Harry’s concentrated face, lips pressed together, jerking himself off rapidly. 

”I could suck you,” slips Louis’ lips. 

Harry bites back a moan, and oh my god, Louis adores how he likes that as much as he does. ”Are you sure?” he asks huskily, which is by far the sexiest his voice has ever sound, and Louis already has a few contestants to choose from in that category. ”Have you? Before?”

”No,” Louis replies earnestly, already climbing to the floor as gracefully as he can despite feeling like he’s a radio stuck between two channels or three. ”I only like you.”

Harry huffs a laugh, clearly too far gone to completely fall for his flattery. It’s good flattery. He should try it again when he can be rewarded for it. 

He positions himself on his knees and watches with half-lidded eyes ( _hungry_ eyes, if you will, even though the song has already switched without him noticing and he honestly doesn’t care) the beads of precome on Harry’s cock, and he sinks down, puts his tongue tentatively to the tip. 

Harry freezes in his movement, draws a sharp breath. Louis gives it a flick of his tongue, a mere kitten-lick, then sinks down over the head. 

He slides his tongue along, trying to cover a lot, and still be teasingly kept back. He bobs his head slightly, tries to figure out what will feel good, if maybe he hollows his cheeks like this and swirls his tongue like that, if maybe he moans a little while he does it just because he honestly can’t help himself. 

Harry’s breath seems to deepen either way as he jerks himself off where Louis won’t even attempt to reach. It’s the most intimate Louis has ever been - another boy so much as kissing him is the most intimate he’s ever been - and he’s so fucking ecstatic he gets to treat Harry so well. 

Like a gentleman, Harry suddenly curls his hand in his hair. ”Baby,” he calls, voice sounding choked off. ”I’m coming. Pull off.”

Louis only obeys, jerking his hand instead and truthfully, it’s far too soon when Harry throws his head back and arches his hips up. 

He comes with a hearty moan, hand pulling his hair only a little, and Louis is busy catching his load in his hand while in absolute _awe_ at how Harry’s face looks, how he grips the sheets, how his muscles spasm. 

Because Louis did that. He got him feeling like that. 

He lets him ride through the aftershocks as his hips stutter a little to small moans from him, and he jerks him slowly until he’s spent in his palm and Louis has to reach for a tissue. 

He wipes himself off, aims for the bin but misses because he never wanted to be a basketball player anyway so fuck it. He offers the box of tissues to Harry with an arched brow. 

Harry smiles weakly, yanks one out and gratefully wipes his hand and the little bit of driblets on his tummy and trousers. ”Thank you.”

Louis puts it away and climbs up the bed. He lies down beside Harry, watches him aim for the bin, and how he scored it right in the middle. ”Boo,” Louis boos, prince of sarcasm and self-pity. 

”Piss off,” Harry murmurs through a huge grin, prince of sunshine and all of Louis’ giddy happiness. He wraps his arm around him and pulls him in to his side. ”Come here. Are you okay?”

Louis curls up as content as a cat in the sun and puts his hand on his chest. His heart is still beating hard. ”As good as I’ve ever been. That was- that was honestly amazing.”

He intended to say something snide and lame, something like, _can’t complain_ , but it’s like he can only speak the truth and nothing but the truth with this one. 

He can’t wait to make Liam and Niall scream with his detailed re-telling. 

”You're an angel,” Harry murmurs, as sweet as butterscotch. ”I loved it. So much. I genuinely- I’m just, so happy.”

At this rate, Louis’ heart is going to grow full of love until his ribcage explodes. That’s not very attractive. ”Me too,” he smiles softly against Harry’s shoulder. "So happy. Can't believe it."

Harry snuggles closer to him, and Louis gratefully hooks his leg around Harry’s, only getting more comfortable. ”We missed some songs, though,” Harry muses about his wonderful creation. 

They listen to the tape, a slow song now. _”Do you feel my heart beating?”_ a girl sings, and Louis’ heart flutters. _”Do you understand?”_

Harry hums along lightly then, clearly a song from a loved tape of his own. He strokes his knuckles gently along Louis’ arm. 

_”Do you feel the same? Am I only dreaming, or is this burning an eternal flame?”_

Louis has never felt so fucking loved. 

Harry’s quiet then, movements still, like he’s waiting for a reaction. Like maybe he’s scared he overstepped, that he scared him off. Well. 

”I’ll have to listen again,” Louis murmurs under his breath. He peeks up at Harry from under his messy fringe. ”Maybe, you know… Maybe next time.”

And Harry leans down to kiss him hard, all the way so that Louis falls to his back on the bed and it makes him giggle against his lips, wrapping his arms around him so that he can’t leave just yet. 

Relief washes over both of them. 

After rain comes sunshine, after sunshine comes a rainbow.

**Author's Note:**

> sO!!! yellow, amirite?
> 
> this was completely inspired by me clearing out old boxes and finding a cassette with the tracklisting for george michael’s faith written on it dated -88, and I asked my mum and she was all ya my friend made that for me because when someone got a new album you recorded it for them if you were nice enough. and so. this. THIS. it was also nice when I’d made my own tracklisting for their sappy love songs, to come into the kitchen humming eternal flame (the one in the end it's so nice) and my mum starting to sing along. means I’ve done alright! also I love words sososo much, if you recognize it you might have heard it in call me by your name, so it only seemed accurate.
> 
> random shoutout to here in the afterglow by fondleeds!! because this probably would have never happened if I’d never read that!!! literally the reason I got into with other eras of music than the 1990’s-2010’s, and uh like yeah I think I owe my life for that?? (I've already screamed at them on tumblr a while back, I'm as embarrassingly full of love as louis)


End file.
